


Mesmerized & Proud

by trashfortimmy



Series: Wandering Back To You [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Boys In Love, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Inspired by Music, M/M, Oliver being in his feels, POV Oliver (Call Me By Your Name), Piano, Romantic Fluff, Softness, bold touches, but they don't know it yet, snuggling on a piano bench, there is a MOMENT, they are cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfortimmy/pseuds/trashfortimmy
Summary: We all know how much Oliver loves Elio's piano playing. One night, when neither of them can sleep, Elio's playing lures Oliver back to the house and causes them to share a sweet moment together, bringing them a little bit closer.Inspiration:You are the life I needed all alongI think of you as my brother/“It’s young Bach. He dedicated it to his brother.”
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: Wandering Back To You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636201
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59





	Mesmerized & Proud

**Author's Note:**

> I had all the feels one day and listened to "Futile Devices" on repeat more times than I should have. The scene in CMBYN where it plays is one of my favorites, because Elio is figuring things out re: his attraction to Oliver, but also because Oliver is PEEING while a song about falling in love with someone plays. It's absolutely brilliant.
> 
> Anyway, a couple of the lines from the song stuck with me and inspired me to make my first ever series! This installment will jump forward a bit from where [ Gattino](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643683) left off and find the boys becoming ever closer. Oliver still wanders, and is lured back to the villa by the sound of Elio's midnight piano playing. The two share A MOMENT and move forwards in their relationship as a unit.
> 
> Basically, an excuse to write ALL THE FEELS plus them being adorable.
> 
> Mama and Papa P are either sleeping, out, or they're just like "that's Elio" and don't care lol.
> 
> There will be a few callbacks to the first story in this series, so it may be helpful to read that part too. (Plus like, Oliver and cats is deliriously adorable so)
> 
> Enjoy!

Despite everything that had happened between them, or maybe because of it, Oliver still felt restless. 

They were growing closer, acting like brothers as they shoved each other out of the way, raced each other on their bicycles, splashed each other in the pool. They were getting used to each other, spending more of their time together. Sometimes it felt like Elio had always been there, while at the same time it felt like Oliver had dreamed him up.

Each day, Oliver filled his time with things that helped him feel productive, like he was accomplished. He could easily slip into the town’s existing social circle to play volleyball or swim at the river. He could just as easily spend all morning or afternoon holed up in Pro’s study, debating the finer points of Heraclitus.

When night fell, he was left to his own devices. The heat of the day dissipated and left a cool sense of relief in its place. 

Or, at least, what should have been relief. In Oliver’s case there was still a sense of unease that lingered into the nighttime, brought to the surface without his usual activities to distract him. This feeling had him fidgety, tense and on edge. It was too big to be contained in his body, felt like it might explode out of him or swallow him whole if he stayed still for too long. 

So instead, he wandered. Took long walks around the town with no real destination in mind, let his legs carry him wherever they felt like while his mind worked in circles. 

Tonight his only companion was a cigarette, the tip glowing red in the darkness and several puffs worth of ash falling behind him every so often like a trail of breadcrumbs. The ashes marked his trail, proved that he’d been there, but only until the wind blew them away. He continued wandering further from his temporary home, at once both disappearing and sealing his fate.

Tonight’s walk felt necessarily long, meandering the streets of the small Italian town in their entirety. The last time he’d walked this much, he’d crossed paths with a cat named Oliver. His feline namesake was nowhere to be found this night, no soft touches or gentle stares to ease his troubled heart.

The past few weeks had brought his restlessness from a low simmer to a full boil, with the aid of the hot summer atmosphere and a certain fiery Italian boy with whom he shared a wall. He and Elio had become more playful with each other, acting as siblings as they tussled and joked with one another. But much like Oliver’s disquiet during the day, something else much bigger lingered beneath the surface of their relationship. 

Oliver had guessed at Elio’s feelings when he’d blushed, so prettily high on his cheeks, just where the masculine line of his bone met the fat of his cheek still soft with youth, the meeting between man and boy. As for Oliver’s own feelings, well, his midnight ramblings hadn’t brought him any closer to understanding them in the least. All he knew was that they were big; too big to just be stuck inside him all of the time. And so he walked. 

With each step, he marks his fondness and caring for Elio, his admiration for the way he said things, his own want to hold his gaze for so very much longer. All of this he shares with the earth around him; the old stone walls lining the winding streets of the town, the trees heavy with fruit, the cicadas with their rapturous nighttime symphony. 

He finally reaches the sea, the rocks by the water that had been his companions on too many nights to count. Listening to the quiet rush of waves upon the shore, he’s suddenly tired. Tired of walking, tired of thinking, tired of not being in his bed. Elio’s bed. His bed. Theirs, not together but separately.

With a heavy sigh just audible above the sound of the water, he decides to head back to the villa. Walking back, he feels no lighter but succumbs to the call of soft, lavender-scented sheets and their ability to at least soothe him to sleep.

Oliver thinks of cat-Oliver and wishes he were here again to rub softly against his leg and provide some comfort once more. He thinks of his destination, his-Elio’s bed, the wall between the rooms they currently occupy (whose soundproofing Oliver hadn’t had the courage to test as of yet), their shared balcony. He thinks of watching Elio sleep, his body illuminated by a slice of moonlight, all of those parts of his lovely figure he somehow already held dear but didn’t have the courage to admire in the daytime, out in the open.

Suddenly, amongst the cicada song and the steady rhythm of his own footsteps, there is music. Faint, but there. It’s wafting on the breeze to Oliver’s ear and he stops to listen. Some midnight piano player is sending a song into the night air and Oliver feels drawn toward it. The more steps he takes in search of the origin of the sound, the more it seems to come from the direction of his eventual destination. Is it some neighbor of the Perlmans, playing to soothe their insomnia, or a host playing a record to send their party guests off with one last song?

The closer Oliver gets the less the song sounds gentle in the least -- sure, there are lovely lilting notes on top, but underneath there is a whole storm of emotion brewing; it may be under the surface but it refuses to go unheard.

Even closer and Oliver gets the feeling the sound is coming from the villa itself. His heart gives a kick as he realizes just what it is, and exactly the person who is playing. Oliver’s brow creases with confusion and worry while his heart swells with pride. He thinks of the boy, sitting alone at the piano so late at night, and wonders if he also couldn’t sleep. But he can’t help but feel proud of him for playing so emotionally, so beautifully, so well.

Elio was always such an emotional player, especially while plunking on the piano. And oh, how Oliver loved his plunking. The boy seemed to play with his whole body, his back arching, muscles rippling, shirt moving on his frame (if he was wearing one), his heart seeming to speak. The music stirred something in Oliver, bringing up unfamiliar emotions, but at the same time felt comforting and familiar. Almost as if he recognized it. Just like the woman calling her cat in the night, he recognized the sound before he knew its name.

His playing mesmerized Oliver, made him follow Elio through the house just to hear him teasingly play different versions of a song until he got to the one Oliver really wanted to hear. Again. And again.

When Elio had played for him that time, Oliver had felt as though Elio was adding something special just for him, that communicating through the notes of the song was more eloquent than words could ever be. 

The music wafting through the air now is a siren song, and Oliver feels pulled towards it. He walks through the door of the villa just as the notes begin to fade, a phrase softly repeating over and over until it fades out completely. The notes ring out even after the song is finished, echoing into the night and making Oliver’s blood fizz.

He walks into the room to find Elio sitting at the piano, hands in his lap and head slightly bent. Oliver stands in the doorway, not wanting to break the silence, not wanting some other sound to replace the song entirely. Every time he sees Elio at the piano he is equally struck; now he stands, mesmerized and proud, his eyes shining as he takes in the back of the boy’s seated form. Elio’s skillful piano playing is matched by his wit, his way with words, Oliver is amazed at all that he knows and baffled by how it all fits inside his head at once. 

_It’s young Bach_ , he hears in his mind. There doesn’t seem to be anything that Elio doesn’t know. But does he know that sometimes Oliver thinks of him as more than a brother?

The room is softly illuminated by only one lamp on the other side of the room from where Elio is sitting, the skin of his slender back shining slightly.

Oliver stays standing in the doorway, watching the soft light dance on his back and in his hair, wanting to savor the moment a little longer. It feels like he is witnessing the boy in his natural habitat, and he’s fascinated by this wild Elio, the person that he is when completely alone, free from any watchful eyes to judge his emotional outpouring. 

He moves into the room, knowing that Elio feels his presence by the way his spine arches and flexes, his shoulder blades appearing as sharp points on his back and then disappearing. He comes close enough to see the hairs on the back of Elio’s neck standing up, a reaction to Oliver’s proximity. The air feels charged with emotion, electric and palpable.

Standing so close, he sees there is enough room on the bench for both of their bodies, wonders if Elio left enough space for him intentionally. Wonders if he knew he would find him, somehow knows he’ll always follow him, even without asking. He moves to the side of the bench and sits down carefully.

There is silence between them for a while. A comfortable silence. There is no need for words, not after the music spoke for them. 

After some time, Oliver turns slightly and lifts his hand, palm open, wanting to see Elio react once again to the closeness of their bodies. His hand hovers in the air, fingers twitching slightly. Elio closes his eyes and nuzzles into Oliver’s touch, just as the cat did. Oliver scratches his fingers gently over Elio’s scalp, occasionally catching on a soft curl, keeping his touch gentle even though all he wants to do is grab a handful of hair and tug him close. This moment seems too delicate for that. As Oliver’s fingers keep moving lightly through those midnight-black locks, he swears he hears Elio’s purr.

Just when Oliver thinks this moment is enough, light touches and unspoken feelings, Elio opens his eyes, looking directly at him, verdant eyes shining, a beacon of light directed right at Oliver’s face. He nuzzles into Oliver’s touch, cheek squishing and lips pouting cutely, then breaks away from the touch to bury his face in Oliver’s shoulder, nose pressing against his neck, soft lips brushing his skin. 

Oliver’s hand is jostled from his head in the process and lands palm down on Elio’s upper thigh. Elio is wearing only swim trunks, and Oliver’s fingers curl into the soft skin on the inside of his leg. Oliver’s hand is a little higher than what can be considered a friendly touch, but he doesn’t want to move. This moment is too perfect, the still of the night, their little bubble broken only by the hum of cicadas and the memory of the music.

Oliver feels bold and keeps his hand there as they continue to rest against each other, the sound of their synchronized breath the only music that can be heard now.

**Author's Note:**

> LOVE YOU ALL <3
> 
> There will be a Part Three coming soon, with a higher rating.
> 
> As always, I'm a whore for comments leave me one blah blah...


End file.
